


a queen does not demand respect, she commands it

by highgardensansa



Series: fire and blood inspired [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, i keep reading fire and blood and every six pages i want to write fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 23:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highgardensansa/pseuds/highgardensansa
Summary: "It is said that Baratheon unchained her with his own hands, wrapped his cloak around her, poured her wine, and spoke to her gently, telling her of her father's courage and the manner of his death." - Fire and BloodThe Storm Queen instead becomes the Lady of Storm's End.





	a queen does not demand respect, she commands it

Despite being gagged and chained, the Storm Queen refused to show weakness. Her own men presented her to him, cowards and traitors as they were.  _ She has more courage than her own men. Wasted courage, perhaps, but she was ready to fight and die. _ He looked her in the eyes, seeing hatred and determination. She would not cringe for him. 

And so, lifting a hand to show that no harm would be done to her, he took his cloak and placed it around her shoulders. Through the wall of hate in her eyes he thought he may have seen the briefest spark of gratitude. The men were dead silent when his hands went to her chains. She stiffened. 

“My lady,” he murmured, and he removed her chains. She did not rub her wrists as most do, instead leaving them clasped. She did not meet his eyes. 

He extended his hand. “Would you join me in my tent?” She looked up at him sharply. “For food and drink, my lady, nothing more.”

The men, having expected a spectacle, were no less than baffled when the Storm Queen quietly took the hand of Orys Baratheon and followed him into his tent.

He poured them both wine, which she did not drink at first. He made no comment. “I admire your bravery, my lady.”

Every time he had addressed her as ‘my lady’ the corner of her mouth had twitched. She still believed herself a Queen. She did not move, though.

“As I admired your father’s bravery,” he continued, and she looked him in the eye. He saw her grief in her young eyes, and with a start he realized that she had accepted the burden of queendom and had not yet reached her eighteenth nameday. She eyed the wine, but did not reach for it. 

“I saw him thrown from his horse, and yet he still rose again and fought. When I reached him he was holding off at least half a dozen men by his lonesome. He defeated them and I asked him to  yield; he refused. He was a great warrior, your father, and he fought bravely until the end. You should take pride in the courage of your father, as I have no doubt he will in yours.”

She listened to him in silence, her hands folded in her lap. She nodded once and took a deep breath. It was quiet for a long moment. “What will become of me?”

“I am to become the lord of Storm’s End,” he said, and she glared at him with cold blue eyes.

“Storm’s End belongs to my blood, the Durrandon blood,” she protested, her tone cool. “A Targaryen will never rule inside those walls.”

“I am not a Targaryen,” he said, tone equal, “and neither is my wife.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she knew his meaning. “You would have me be your wife.”

“I would have you be the Lady of Storm’s End.”

“And if I refuse?”

“What other future are you thinking of? I’m sure Queen Visenya could find some awful way for you to die, if that is what you wish; or you may be lucky enough to escape to the Free Cities and live out your days as the last daughter of a disgraced House - or you could live out your days in your home, with comfort, and with people who are your people.”

Those very same people had just chained her and threw her, naked, to the enemy, but he knew these Westerosi mainland peoples loved their land above all things - and the people who lived on that land.

“The price of my freedom is marrying you,” she stated, with disdain. He could see the anger in her brimming just beneath the surface, and he almost felt afraid.

“Yes, my lady.” She reached for the wine. She downed half the glass before setting it back down.

“You would make me a whore, only to keep my own life.” She looked away in disgust. “My father died to protect our family, and you would have me whore to protect what’s left of it.” But before he could reply, she spoke again. “I respect you, Lord Orys, because of the respect you hold for the man my father was, and if I marry you it is because I expect that same respect.”

_ She will marry me, then _ . He felt a strange joy at the thought. Here was this woman, this impeccably strong-willed woman, the last member of a line going back centuries, who even now was able to keep the composure of a Queen. Her wrists were still red where they had been chained, and she wore nothing but his cloak, and yet she sat as if on a throne. 

“Let it not be mistaken, my lord. I believe the Targaryens to be tyrants and you are most certainly a bastard, better suited to life on the Wall than as Lord of Storm’s End.”

“Then why marry me?” He asked, though not particularly hurt by the comments.

“Because, my lord, it is the only way I am able to rebel.”

Orys smiled and nodded his head with respect. 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed! thank you very much for reading :)


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